


legacy

by TMOTC



Series: family ties [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Sawada Tsunayoshi, Fluff, Gen, he just wants shouto to be safe, totally took line from fma don't kill me it just really hit me, tsuna went through a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TMOTC/pseuds/TMOTC
Summary: “These hands,” Tsunayoshi says, haltingly, un-patronizingly, “were not made to kill.”(Shouto is fourteen and Tsuna is being hounded for an heir.)
Relationships: Todoroki Shouto & Sawada Tsunayoshi
Series: family ties [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/985935
Comments: 43
Kudos: 718





	legacy

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy!

Shouto knows he’s a bit oblivious. Ignorant. Unobservant. Whatever adjective that best suits his distinct un-awareness when it comes to the people in his life, more specifically his uncle and his Guardians.

It’s not his fault. His first few years living in the Vongola compound taught him that trying to make sense of anything and everything was useless— that going with the flow was the only way to retain his sanity, which had been very important to the then wary, tired-of-life’s-shit child.

This isn’t to say that Shouto, nearly a decade later, believes his uncle and his companions are _bad people,_ per say. They’re just… eccentric.

Really, _really_ eccentric.

Shouto doesn’t hate it. Really. He’s long gotten used to random fights breaking out in the hallways, the dining room, _in front of his room_ when he’s trying to take a nap _._ He can even maintain decent conversations with most of his uncle’s Guardians without feeling like he’s being picked apart for every unnecessary breath he takes. (No, he’s not talking about Hibari-sama. Absolutely not.)

But when his _uncle,_ laid-back, caring, and near omnipotent Vongola Decimo, starts acting even _more_ strangely, Shouto starts questioning his life a little.

It all starts with a conversation. One that Shouto probably shouldn’t have heard, and wouldn’t have if Shouto were a little less curious.

Still, it’s not his fault. His mother had made breakfast, and his uncle was taking longer than usual to join them. When Shouto mentions that the man had been working later than usual the night before, and was probably just sleeping in, his mother tuts.

“All the more reason he should join us. He was probably working on an empty stomach!”

And so Shouto finds himself at the door of his uncle’s office, fist raised to knock, when he hears a _crack,_ the unmistakable sound of a fist making contact with wood.

Shouto stops in his tracks.

_“Absolutely not.”_

It’s his uncle’s voice, has the same colouring Shouto is familiar with, yet he almost doesn’t recognize it. When Tsunayoshi speaks to his family, his voice is soothing and gentle, with a certain drawl that Shouto associates with home and safety _._

Shouto feels like he’s walked into the middle of a negotiation gone wrong.

 _“I understand your reluctance.”_ Shouto vaguely recalls the other man’s voice from somewhere, gravelly and smooth. _“Believe me, this is not a conversation I was looking forward to. However, you cannot deny the facts.”_

The voice lowers significantly.

_“You’re well into your thirties, Decimo. Even you have to realize that’s old, for someone of your position.”_

_“Says you.”_ His uncle’s voice shoots back, sharper. _“I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”_

 _“That,”_ the other man’s voice continues, _“is exactly what Federico told me.”_

Silence.

Shouto is barely breathing.

_“You need to announce an heir, Decimo.”_

_“I don’t have one.”_

_“You have several nieces and nephews.”_

_“All of whom are living happily as civilians,_ Nono.”

_“And the last one?”_

There’s a near-growl. Shouto stumbles back a little. _“Off. Limits.”_

 _“And why’s that?”_ Some shuffling. _“Is he not trained?”_

His uncle completely ignores the question. _“I am not shackling him to Vongola, Nono. He’s… he’s fourteen.”_

_“The same age you were.”_

_“That is not something to be proud of!”_

_“Of course.”_ The man’s voice— Nono’s— is contrite. _“But you must acknowledge that you need an heir.”_

 _“Shouto has_ dreams. _He’s going to do great things.”_

_“And he cannot do these great things here?”_

**_“My nephew will not be a killer.”_ **

No one speaks for a minute. If Shouto was barely breathing before, his lungs are empty now.

Of course, he’s always known that his uncle has killed. That Vongola has done dirty, dirty things to keep other _famiglias_ in check, protecting the public from villains not quite as visible nor as conventional as the villains heroes are accustomed to fighting.

Shouto was kidnapped once, and only once, in his life. 

He doesn’t know what happened to his kidnapper, but upon waking up from his drug-induced sleep and subsequently being paralyzed by the smoke swirling in his uncle’s then molten orange eyes, a speck of blood on his collar, Shouto can guess.

After all, he’s learned not to ask questions.

_“I see.”_

His uncle huffs a loud sigh. _“I’ll have an heir, Nono. Just… just not him, okay? Besides.”_ A pause. _“Shouto has a quirk. Half-and-half. He doesn’t have the_ Flames _to be_ Undicesimo.”

_“That can be changed.”_

Deadly silence.

The room _rattles._

Shouto backs away from the door and, like the logical person he is, runs away.

He regains his composure as he takes his spot in the dining room. His mother looks at him strangely as she sets down the last plate, piping hot with food. Fuyumi, who seems to have just rolled out of bed, has already started to tuck into her breakfast. 

“Where’s Tsunayoshi, Shouto?”

Shouto carefully forces his face into a blank expression. “Talking to someone. I didn’t want to disturb.”

He has likely failed to hide his unease, because his mother shoots another concerned look in his direction.

They start eating without his uncle.

Then they don’t see him for the next two weeks.

* * *

Shouto is only made aware of his uncle’s arrival when Gokudera-sama, his uncle’s right hand man, comes to fetch him. 

“Tenth is waiting for you in his office.” His expression is near unreadable. Shouto tries to copy him. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

Shouto doesn’t bother with a verbal response. He gets up from the floor of the training room, tucking away the tonfa he’d been shining. It had been a gift from Reborn, surprisingly, who had gotten the idea from watching him and Hibari-sama ‘spar’ one day— in quotations, because the man had held back a _ton_ for his sake, as well as his own. The Cloud Guardian did not want to get into deep shit with his boss. 

Shouto is eventually standing in front of his uncle’s office, fist once again raised to knock. He pauses at the last second, inhaling deeply to calm himself of his sudden unease. His uncle can probably already sense him, could probably hear the _tittertittertitter_ of his heartbeat through the door, perhaps even from the moment he’d reached the floor. 

He knocks. Opens the door without waiting for an answer.

“Good morning, Shouto,” his uncle says from his desk, a small smile on his face, hands clasped over several papers. His voice has regained the soothing tenor he’s become accustomed to, a far cry from the furious man he’d heard weeks ago. “Come sit.”

Shouto complies. Once seated, he shoves his hands beneath his thighs, trying not to fidget under his uncle’s intense gaze.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, when his uncle doesn’t say anything. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

His uncle waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, that? Just a little trip. It’s not important. What _is_ important—” he stops. Thumbs his biggest ring, before flashing Shouto an encouraging smile. “You heard us, right?”

Shouto doesn’t dare play dumb. “Yeah.” 

“Sorry about that.” His uncle genuinely looks contrite. “I— I wasn’t in the right mind. I was so angry, I didn’t even realize you were there until you left.”

Shouto nods. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean to.”

“Thanks for understanding.” His uncle is smiling again. “But considering the talk concerned _you,_ I figured, well. Might as well give you all the details.” He leans back against his massive leather chair. “But first, tell me what you know.”

“You need an heir,” Shouto says, slowly. “But none of us—” Himself, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Touya— “are suitable.” Because they don’t have Sky Flames. Because they’re pretty much civilians. Because his uncle doesn’t want them… hurting anybody.

His uncle nods solemnly. “You understand, right?”

Shouto does. Besides the obvious, he has dreams, of which he’s recounted to his uncle over the years he’s stayed in the compound. He wants to be a hero— an _underground hero._ It was the happy medium to the vigilante life he’s become used to, and the traditional heroics he’s admired for so many years. His family was supportive, in a nurturing way that his father would never have been able to replicate, not with his ambitions.

“I… yeah. But.” He furrows his brows. “You _do_ need an heir, don’t you?”

Tsunayoshi closes his eyes, like he couldn’t believe the dreaded phrase left his own nephew’s mouth. “Yes. But it won’t be you, I promise.”

Unwillingly, something in his chest stings.

 _What is wrong with you?_ He thinks. _You agree with him. You’re physically incapable. You don’t even_ want _to lead Vongola, or be a vigilante like them. Why are you upset?_

His uncle seems to recognize the dejection in his eyes. He stands up, walks swiftly around his desk, and stands in front of Shouto.

To Shouto’s surprise, the man kneels. Gently grasps Shouto’s hands, and clutches them tightly between his own. 

The rings, its _chains,_ are cold against his skin.

“These hands,” Tsunayoshi says, haltingly, un-patronizingly, “were not made to kill.”

Shouto’s breath hitches. 

It’s then that Shouto _understands._ His uncle’s hands are warm but cold, scrubbed clean yet covered in blood, an array of calluses, of guilt and grief and regrets that he probably never properly came to terms with himself. Not until he realized that Shouto himself might be forced down onto the same path.

“You’re a wonderful kid, Shouto.” The grip tightens. “You deserve better. So much more than this.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Shouto asks quietly.

_Why do you kill?_

Tsunayoshi’s liquid brown (orange?) eyes go hazy, almost faraway. “To protect those I love,” he says, his gaze refocusing once they meet Shouto’s. “That was the original intention, anyhow. But then I grew up, and realized people I’ve never met before are hurting, that there are just some things about society that heroes can’t fix— not as swiftly as we can, anyway.” He smiles forlornly. “I’m making the best out of the situation, as you can see. But in the end, I never really had a choice. Not the way you do.”

At Shouto’s silence, Tsunayoshi pats his knee. “I’m fine now, I promise. This is where I’m meant to be. You, on the other hand—" his smile curls up higher, brimming with pride— "have amazing, _other_ things ahead of you. Trust me. I’ve got good intuition.”

It’s a poor joke, but Shouto cracks a small smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Shouto says, “that you didn’t have a choice.”

“It’s not completely horrible anymore,” Tsunayoshi says. “I got to change things a lot around here. There are more good days than bad.”

“...the last two weeks?”

“Bad.”

“Ah.”

“It’s nothing compared to the good,” his uncle promises. “I love my Guardians, my _famiglia._ You most certainly wouldn’t be living here if I weren’t Vongola Decimo, hmm?”

What a scary thought, Shouto muses, having to live with his father for more than the terror he’d remembered.

Tsunayoshi stands. “I’m hungry. Let’s have some brunch. I’m sure—”

The desk phone rings. His uncle frowns upon seeing the caller ID, but it quickly turns into a smile as he looks back at Shouto.

“Go ahead. I’m just gonna take this.”

Shouto complies, the door clicking behind him. Once he reaches the end of the hallway, he hears shouting.

Shouto speeds up his pace. There’s one thing he’d forgotten to ask about— the fact that, despite having a quirk, despite not even having _Flames,_ he’d still been considered a possible heir.

_That can be changed._

The words, said so coldly distant, send a shiver down his spine. He can’t help but wonder if it related at all to his uncle’s two-week absence. Can’t help but wonder what would have happened, if Nono had been more persistent, and if his uncle had a weaker resolve, weaker morals.

Shouto reaches the end of the staircase. He can smell breakfast waiting for him, wafting through the halls and leading to his mother, his sister, the Guardians, his _family._

His uncle is Vongola Decimo, he reminds himself. 

Tsunayoshi will protect him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back? kinda? only took two years lolol.
> 
> comments are nice :)


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